


An Echo

by virdant



Category: Final Fantasy XIV, Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Angst, Happy Ending, M/M, Memory Loss, The Echo, Time Travel, canonical time travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-02
Updated: 2021-02-02
Packaged: 2021-03-14 03:40:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,299
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29164353
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/virdant/pseuds/virdant
Summary: The last time Jango saw Obi-Wan Kenobi, it had been before he departed for the Carteneau Flats to defend Eorzea against the Garleans. Obi-Wan was in the vanguard, leading the charge, crystal glowing and sword bright like fire. Jango had stayed behind, trapped by duty and responsibility, yearning to draw his gun and join the fray, yet forced to remain behind in Ul’dah.--A FFXIV AU, featuring Obi-Wan Kenobi as the Warrior of Light and Jango Fett as a member of the Ul'dah Syndicate.
Relationships: Jango Fett/Obi-Wan Kenobi
Comments: 3
Kudos: 44
Collections: Jangobi Week





	An Echo

**Author's Note:**

> for jangobi week 2020 day 2: time travel (with a bonus of fantasy.... by which i mean final fantasy)
> 
> am i addicted to final fantasy xiv? no..... of course not............
> 
> thanks to thesecondbatgirl for pointing out that obi kenobi is a lalafell naming convention it has lived rent-free in my mind since then and one wonders how many more ffxiv AUs i'll end up writing........

He’s different from how Jango remembers him.

The last time Jango saw Obi-Wan Kenobi, it had been before he departed for the Carteneau Flats to defend Eorzea against the Garleans. Obi-Wan was in the vanguard, leading the charge, crystal glowing and sword bright like fire. Jango had stayed behind, trapped by duty and responsibility, yearning to draw his gun and join the fray, yet forced to remain behind in Ul’dah.

Obi-Wan had been so tired, before the Calamity. He’d spent his evenings staring up at the falling meteor in the sky, and Jango had struggled to pull him to bed. 

“Jango,” Obi-Wan said, every evening. “I have a bad feeling about all of this.”

But before Obi-Wan left, he pressed his forehead to Jango’s, and breathed, deeply. “I will come back,” he had said—not quite a promise, because he knew better than to make empty promises. “Protect Ul’dah while I’m gone.”

And then he left, and the Calamity struck, and it has been five years of solitude, since.

* * *

Physically, he hasn’t changed at all.

Still the same Lalafell that he’s always been, round of face and bright of eye. Obi-Wan looks, from an outsider’s perspective, exactly as he always has been. And he has always blended into the crowd, when he left his sword strapped to his hip and his crystal tucked away—just another Lalafell, dressed in the simple robes of a mage, too short to seen above a crowd of Hyurs.

But Jango knows Obi-Wan better than that.

Before Obi-Wan left, there had been infinite sadness in his gaze. He stared at Jango as a Lalafell who’d been worn away from conflict after conflict with the Garleans. He’d drawn his sword and charged into each battle, and each conflict had worn another part of him—the part that would study the ancient scholars of Nym, the part that would pour over ancient arcana—away until there was only war in his soul.

This Obi-Wan—

He has Boga by his side, the carbuncle bright and cheerful. He wears a book strapped to his hip. He steps off of the airship and gazes at Ul’dah as if it were the first time he’s seen the city, as if he hasn’t made it his home, as if he hasn’t come back to Jango, again and again.

This Obi-Wan does not remember, and it has been five years since the Calamity.

But Jango does.

* * *

They’d fought, when they first met. Eight years ago, Jango’d worn his gun at his hip every day, spent time out in Thanalan protecting merchants and taking bounties. He’d met Obi-Wan like this, the Lalafell helping everybody who crossed his path, never mind that he barely reached the knees of Elezans or Roegadyns.

Jango had taken a bounty, had promised to see a Miqo’te dead, and Obi-Wan had agreed to protect the same Miqo’te, because that was the type of Lalafell that Obi-Wan was: one who protected the weak, who sought justice for the downtrodden. They’d met in Southern Thanalan, and they’d fought and fought as the dust kicked into their eyes and the sun beat down on them.

Jango was a Dunesfolk Lalafell, and he was used to the sun. Used to the dust. Used to Thanalan. But Obi-Wan was tenacious and driven, and even then there had been an echo of greatness in him.

They’d fought to a standstill, the Miqo’te had fled, tail between their legs and ears pressed flat against their skull, and Obi-Wan lay in the hot sand beside him, so close that their fingers could touch, so close that Jango could roll over and bring the muzzle of his gun to Obi-Wan’s face, and Obi-Wan had said, quietly, “You don’t have to do this.”

“You don’t know anything,” Jango’d replied.

“I know that you can be better than this.” The sun had been setting, and the chill of the desert evening was beginning to set in. “We can make Eorzea a better place, if we all try.”

Jango had turned away. He would turn away many more times, before he would take Obi-Wan’s hand.

* * *

Obi-Wan has already been through a trial by fire. Jango’s heard the stories: how could he not? Of a Lalafell who had slain Ifrit, who could do more than run away from the power of gods, but could stand and face it head-on.

Jango’d only known of one Lalafell like that, before.

A Lalafell who’d pressed his forehead to Jango’s, curled his fingers around Jango’s, and promised to come back.

It has been five years, and Jango stares at Obi-Wan Kenobi and feels his heart lurch in his throat in familiar agony—

Obi-Wan promised.

But this is not the same Obi-Wan that Jango remembers.

* * *

Obi-Wan clutches at his head when he sees Jango, bends over with a grimace. Around him, the rest of the Syndicate watch, eyes gleaming.

Jango stands. He walks to Obi-Wan, slowly. They have always been able to move slowly around each other. He stands before Obi-Wan, that inch of difference between their heights so familiar. For a moment, he aches with memory.

When Obi-Wan lifts his head and says, softly, “Jango?” he can only take Obi-Wan by the shoulders and press their foreheads together in familiar sweetness.

* * *

Five years ago, Obi-Wan left to fight the Garleans.

He has never been one to do nothing when he could do everything. He has always been the first to help anybody in need, the first to give even when he had nothing, the first to rise against injustice.

He will go to fight the Garleans again. He will leave. He will march away, again and again.

And Jango has tethered himself to Ul’dah.

Five years ago, six years ago, seven years ago, he would holster his gun and join Obi-Wan. They had spent a year like that, the two of them together. Jango’s aim had always been true, and Obi-Wan’s arcana was always faithful. It had been just the two of them.

And Jango could have done that for the rest of his life. Could have stayed by Obi-Wan’s side. But there was a seat in Ul’dah that demanded his attention, there was a city, a nation, that called, and Jango…

Jango looked at Ul’dah and thought of Obi-Wan and wanted him to have a place to return to.

Five years ago, Obi-Wan took up his crystal and his sword and marched to war.

Jango stayed behind, and he waged his own war in Obi-Wan’s absence until he was the power behind the Sultanate, and he mourned.

* * *

Obi-Wan does not remember, not all of it.

The same magic that sent him five years into the future also swept away his memories: the memories of death and despair, the memories of Jango. He is not a new arcanist, but he is tempered by new trials, not the ones that Jango remembers.

But he remembers enough.

He remembers snatches, echoes of the past given to him as a gift. He remembers the Calamity—the heat of Bahamut, the fear, the cries of the dead and dying. He remembers Jango—the moment of peace, the warmth of a hand, the press of the steel of Jango’s gun against his forehead.

“I have to leave,” Obi-Wan says, in the morning.

Jango reaches. Traces a hand along the curve of Obi-Wan’s cheek. Touches the tip of his ears. “You do,” he agrees, because he will never be able to keep Obi-Wan here in Ul’dah when there is a world to save. “But come back.”

Obi-Wan knows better than to make promises he cannot keep. He knows that Eorzea is a continent filled with danger. He knows that the Garleans will stop at nothing to conquer them.

But he takes Jango’s hand. He holds Jango close. He promises to return.

End.

**Author's Note:**

> How much FFXIV have I been playing? Yes. The answer to that question is yes.
> 
> now with [bonus art](https://adinavdeb.tumblr.com/post/642069302907977728/so-i-hadnt-really-planned-on-posting-this-but) from aliche!
> 
> \--
> 
> thanks for reading and kudoing, if you want to find me you can:
> 
>   * asian jedi agenda (dm me on twitter for link)
>   * Follow me on twitter [@virdant](http://www.twitter.com/virdant/)
>   * Comment and kudo below
> 



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